


Trials

by Nonesane



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:36:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1410157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonesane/pseuds/Nonesane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galahad leaves to find the Holy Grail, and in doing so must decide what’s really important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trials

"What do you see?"

Galahad closed his eyes, even though he knew they’d never been open. “Your mothers.”

The laughter was less welcome than a winter storm. “I do believe I only have one.”

"Yes. No." The presence to his right moved and twined with something else. "They’re sisters."

"How fitting."

The darkness seemed unending. Galahad reached out with one hand, only to feel hair brushing against his fingertips. He pulled back as if he’d been burned.

"And what do you see now?"

Galahad steadied himself, ignored the thundering of his own heartbeat. “Your children.”

"So I have children too!" Amusement was clear in the voice, but it held an undercurrent of something darker. "How glorious. Sons or daughters?"

"Two sons, no sons. And…" The vision faded, like all those before it. "It’s gone."

The presence at Galahad’s side grew more clear. He could almost hear another breathing next to him, footsteps other than his own.

"So I am a man of two mothers, but no father, and a father of two sons, but no sons. Tell me, Sir Galahad, who am I?"

"You have a father," Galahad answered. He did his best to focus on a point somewhere ahead in the darkness, making sure not to turn his head toward the source of the voice. "Two fathers."

"Well, I guess it’s only fitting that I shall have two of those as well," the voice said. "Are they perchance brothers?"

Galahad felt a hand brush against the nape of his neck. He shivered. “Only in the sense that they are both kings.” He gritted his teeth, knowing the next question that would come.

"And what is my name, Sir Galahad?

Galahad said nothing.

"Come come, my good man!" the voice coaxed. The presence was strong now, the warmth of a second body next to his own, standing out from the surrounding black coldness like a candle flame in a darkened room. "Surely you know my name. I’ve heard you speak it several times." The voice was close, as if its owner was whispering in his ear. "I would have you say it again."

Galahad focused on the cold and the dark. The voice stayed quiet for five more steps. The warmth on Galahad’s left-hand side slowly faded, the footsteps falling silent.

"Do keep going, my friend," the voice said, its amusement withdrawing like the tide. "I _do_ hope you find what you seek.”

Taking a deep breath, Galahad opened his eyes, ignored the voice – for that was all it was, all it could be – and continued on.

*****

There had been a battle, before the darkness. For each step he took Galahad forgot more and more of it. Had there been a dragon? It had seemed a mad thought before, but who was he to say what was and wasn’t possible?

He should never have allowed the others to come with him; not even as companions for the first part of the journey. He couldn’t remember their faces or names, each one changing and twisting the deeper into the dark he got. Names and titles replaced one another so quickly he couldn’t wrap his mind around them, so fast he no longer could place which ones sounded foreign and which didn’t.

Home was another point that no longer was fixed. _Camelot_ stood out as a word in his mind, a name that filled him both with longing and unnamed dread. It was at once a castle, a room, a house, a time and a part of the sky.

With Camelot followed faces and places that were the same and yet different, allies who at once were as strange and as familiar as his own face; a face he wasn’t sure he’d recognize even if he made it out of the darkness and got to see his own reflection again.

What colour was his hair? His skin? Was he covered in blood? Was he wearing armour? Had he had weapons? A shield? The darkness held answers, but far too many of them, and none of them formed a coherent whole.

The initial panic had settled with each step he took. Galahad had let the questions and answers wash over him, observing without seeking the familiar. They were all correct, in their own way, and all wrong, in their own way. A trial, and such he had been prepared for.

He had his name. He has his quest. He knew it was just and good. That was enough.

*****

Galahad could sense the end of the path before the darkness began to brighten. The visions had gotten more hellish as the voice had left, other presences having come and gone; large and small, threatening and begging, monsters and humans, friends and foes.

None had drawn him from his path. None had even come close.

He steeled himself. He knew what was coming.

"Sir Galahad, I am duly impressed," the voice said, from the light grey mist ahead. "You’ve come far. Much closer than most."

"For which I am humbly grateful," Galahad said and looked up.

"It’s amusing how your words are so sincere," the man – for most of the visions that made up the creature before him were of men – said, grinning. "Not a hint of pride, Sir Galahad? Not a boastful word?"

The light was growing stronger, framing the man with a golden shimmer. Galahad’s heart ached to see it, no matter how the man’s facial features shifted and changed. The feeling overshadowed the fear that had begun to creepy up on him. “It is not my doing alone that has brought me here,” Galahad said. “We both know I am not here alone, just as we both know you are not here.”

"Oh," the man said. "But how could I know something I wasn’t there to witness?"

"I do not think I need to explain that to you."

The man laughed, and it was then that Galahad noticed there had always only been one voice the man spoke with. The other visions’ sounds had changed with their faces, but this one…

Dread crept up on him like a wolf in the night. Slowly, the man’s features ceased shifting and his hair took on a colour that was terrifyingly familiar.

"Mor-" The name almost escaped Galahad’s lips and he shut them tight before the rest could follow.

The man’s smile grew wider. “What was that, Sir Galahad?” There was smugness in his words, thoughts of a creature sure of its victory.

Galahad hesitated. The light was growing dimmer, spreading more evenly along the path. It let him see the colour of the man’s eyes. They fit perfectly with a memory he hadn’t known he’d kept.

"I will not see you."

The man’s grin twisted into a grimace.” What?!”

"I will not see you," Galahad said, though is tongue fought him for each syllable. "I will not hear you. You are not here."

As the silhouette of the man faded away, Galahad’s heart grew heavy and light at the same time. He thought to call out, to say the name that was on his lips, to do _something_ -

And then he saw the Grail.


End file.
